Shattered
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Jason Blaine is dead and Mariette is heartbroken; an unknown woman may have played a part in his demise. How does Adam console his "sister" and yet secure happiness for himself? Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plots are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
1. Chapter 1

I

I probably shouldn't tell you this story because it, well, it casts me in a bad light, lustful and perhaps disloyal, but I feel compelled to do so; maybe it'll help me sleep at night if I get it off my chest. Maybe then I can have some peace.

Jason Blaine had died—there was nothing mysterious about it so this isn't about a murder but a love story of sorts. Actually it's about how I manage to exist with my heart having been shattered, left in shards like pieces of sharp glass—destroyed, and I should be dead. If there's any mystery at all, it's that I'm not.

But there's no mystery at all about Jason Blaine; he died of a broken neck—was glassy-eyed drunk for an unknown reason, at least at the time-and fell off his horse—went over the damned animal's head when it shied at a piece of paper fluttering in the street. It had been a bad winter and we buried him in the rock-hard, frozen ground. My family paid extra money for more gravediggers—in order to start the grave, they had to blast the ground open with a small charge of dynamite- as a favor to Mariette, Jason's widow, and the closest that I and my brothers have to a sister.

Mariette's father, Brock Larson, and ours were close friends having both arrived in the area at the same time and both started ranches simultaneously, helping each other out. My father was "luckier," he always said, as if making excuses for the many acres we owned and the wealth we received from the mill and the silver mines, but I knew that wasn't true. My father had simply persevered in the face of misfortune and adversity while Mariette's father collapsed in similar situations. When a plague hit the cattle, Larson had no idea what to do but to shoot the remaining steer in the herd and piss and moan about his misfortune while my father cut the sick ones from the herd, shot them, burned the carcasses, and then carefully watched the others; we lost only a third of our stock. Pa, of course, gave Larson a starter herd and one of our best bulls but that's Pa. Besides, I think he felt guilty.

"I have you to help me, Adam," Pa had explained when I asked him why he was just giving away the cattle and the bull. I was only thirteen at the time but even then, I thought it was too much and it surprised me that Brock Larson would even consider taking the animals gratis. "In a few years, Hoss will be able to help us and then, eventually, Joe. Brock has only Mariette and won't have a son, anyone other than his few hands to help him, until she marries. I think that giving Brock a few steer so that he can build up his stock—well—it's the least I can do for an old friend." But I didn't buy it—I knew that my assistance in running the Ponderosa was limited and that Old Will, the foreman, and the other ranch hands were far more valuable than I was and that Larson had ranch hands as well. What I didn't know at the time was that we were paying Larson's ranch hands until he was back on his feet. Nevertheless, I didn't question my father about it any further. I could tell he didn't want to explain himself to me—actually didn't have to explain himself to me-because he lowered his eyes when he spoke to me and then went back to his pipe waiting for Marie to join him downstairs after baby Joe was asleep.

Both men, my father and Larson, also lost their wives within three months of each other, Marie, Joe's mother, tragically dying first. When Mariette's mother died, her father just couldn't rouse himself to accrue any more land or even to manage that which he had. So Pa helped him, sending over our hands for round-up and branding and bringing Mariette to the ranch for days at a time as her father fell into despair. I remember I was disgusted with Larson—how could a man just give up like that? But my father told me never to judge anyone's depth of grief or how they dealt with it. I think he was talking about himself. But I remembered those words later; grief can be debilitating if it is deep enough. I know that now.

But it was nice to have Mariette at the house and I grew fond of her and protective. Mariette and Hoss were the same age so I became her older brother, Joe her younger, and Hoss her companion. We all loved Mariette, especially Pa who I think saw her as the daughter he never had; she was pretty and a sweet-natured girl with a coy smile but sad, blue eyes even when she smiled. But she and I were closest for some reason and I became her confidante. Mariette didn't go to Pa when she had a problem, but to me and I always felt special.

On his deathbed, Mariette's father made my father swear that he would see to her upbringing and he did. Mariette stayed with us for almost two years and went to school with Hoss and then Pa sent her to a boarding school in Baltimore. When she came back at 17 years, Mariette met Jason Blaine, a mineralogist and an assayer, when he came out to the Ponderosa for a job. He began to court Mariette and they fell in love and married a year later, the ceremony held at the Ponderosa. Pa gave her away. It was a joyful day and Pa went all out as well as Hop Sing or so I was told, as I was away at school at the time. When I finally returned home and met Jason, something about him made me wary; he behaved like a hunted animal but Mariette was in love with him and so I ignored my gut feeling. That's always a mistake.

As I said, Jason seemed like a hunted animal because he was one. Before Jason left San Francisco for Virginia City to set up shop as an assayer, he had worked for a group of high-powered 'claim jumpers' known as "Murdoch's Gang." When the miners would come into his San Francisco office to validate their finds, to verify that what they had was gold and ascertain its value, Jason would tell his 'boss,' Murdoch, and Murdoch would send out his "night riders," anonymous vigilantes to kill the miners. Then Murdoch would usurp the claims and Jason would receive a split. It all came out two years after he and Mariette married and it's a long story I'd rather not tell here but suffice it to say that Jason did a year in prison, a "gift" from the state for turning state's witness. He then returned to a welcoming Mariette who had lived with us after the trial. During that time, she had thrown herself into charity work for the church, helping to start the fund to build a hospital and a clinic for the Paiutes. My father helped set Jason up in business again and because he had the approval of the Cartwrights, especially my father and me, and because Mariette was so kind and beloved by the townsfolk, Jason soon had a thriving assayer's business despite his past. I was always cordial to Jason for Mariette's sake but I still didn't trust him—he had shifty eyes. Hoss just laughed at that when I mentioned it but it was true albeit it a childish reason. Jason seemed to always be looking around, never really settling his gaze for long.

'Now, Adam,' Hoss said, "iffen you'd been through what he has, you'd be on your guard all the time too. Matter of fact—you always are anyway, 'fraid someone's gonna get the best of you or turn on you."

Although I told Hoss to kiss my ass, he was right, I am always on guard and there aren't many people I trust and I definitely didn't trust Jason Blaine despite the fact that Mariette adored him and he seemed to make her happy for over four more years.


	2. Chapter 2

Anyway, Jason died and it wasn't the most dignified death. At the funeral, I stood on one side of Mariette, my father on the other as people milled by and tossed a handful of dirt on Jason's coffin but when I glanced at Mariette to see how she was holding up, she wasn't looking in the grave at the clods exploding on the coffin lid, but at a lone woman standing across from us behind a few mourners, her face also covered with a black veil. She didn't join the group but kept her distance. Isn't it odd—a woman wears a white veil as a bride and then a black veil as a widow? They attempt to hide their faces from the world and it gives them a strangeness, removes them somehow from the world of ordinary men. But the woman wasn't the widow. Why did she wear a veil?

"Are you all right, Mariette?" I asked as she grabbed my arm to steady herself, her fingers pressing into my arm. I feared she was going to faint and fall into the hole with Jason so I put an arm around her and bent down to see her face under the black sheer veil. The wind had blown it up and aside and I was surprised at the hate I saw in her face.

"It's her," Mariette said in a whisper as she clutched my arm tighter.

I looked back at the figure of the woman but I couldn't tell who she was. Her mourning veil seemed to be heavier than Mariette's, perhaps two layers of sheer fabric, but by her stance and posture, I supposed her to be relatively young. She had rounded hips below a narrow waist. Her black cape flapped open every so often when the cold wind caught it and both her hands were hidden within a black fur muff. She was all in black as well except for a scarlet feather decorating her black hat—almost like a splash of blood.

"Who?" I asked. "You're talking about the woman with the fur muff, right?"

"Yes. I didn't think she'd have the nerve to be here—the whore."

I had never heard Mariette speak that way, so strongly and in a vulgar manner. In all the years I had known her she had always been kind and generous to others and never insulted or spoke ill of anyone except of the men who were responsible for Jason's incarceration and even that had been kinder than what they deserved.

I said no more as my father had looked over at us and the reverend was beginning to approach the widow to comfort her while the rest of the attendees milled by the grave to pay their respects.

"Adam," my father said, quietly as he put a hand on my shoulder, "bring Mariette back to the house, would you? People will soon be arriving and I better be there to greet them. I can't leave it up to Hop Sing and your brothers."

I told him I would and watched as the woman who had remained at a distance turned and walked away to a small buggy. Jud Brinson, who had just helped his hugely pregnant wife into their buggy, helped the back-veiled woman into hers. She nodded to him in gratitude and raised her veil, flipping it back over her hat but I couldn't see her face. But it was obvious that Jud did and liked what he saw. He said something to her—something insipid, I'm sure, and then he smiled. When he climbed up into his buggy seat, his wife said something to him and it was obvious he was being chastised. He apologized profusely to his wife. I had to smile to myself and guessed that his wife, Trudy, felt awkward and unattractive at this late stage in her pregnancy-it must have been her close friendship with Mariette that brought her to the funeral—and it probably annoyed her to see Jud "flirt" with another woman who didn't have a huge belly.

~ 0 ~

"Now tell me what you meant by calling that woman a whore," I said to Mariette who sat beside me as I drove her to the Ponderosa. She still gripped her balled-up lace handkerchief in her hand.

"Just what I said—a whore. You know what one is, Adam—everyone does—a promiscuous woman, a jezebel, a woman who…has relations with a man for gain whether it be money or anything else."

"Mariette…" I had my doubts that Jason would be unfaithful—his fear that if he was caught with another woman, I would beat the hell out of him and then castrate him and serve up his roasted chestnuts for his dinner would be too great.

"Listen to me, Adam, before you tell me what you think."

Mariette looked at me, her eyes wild, her breathing rapid. I worried about her state and that she would become hysterical—she was prone to histrionics, had been her whole life. When her mother and then her father died, both times she was frantic, frenzied, sobbing uncontrollably. The doctor had to give her laudanum to calm her and let her sleep. A few times in her life, I actually had to shake her to calm her and bring her back to herself.

"We were at home one evening about a month ago, a letter came, more like a note. It was brought by a boy—said he was given a nickel to deliver it when Jason asked him. Well, Jason and I were sitting by the fire in the parlor. It was such a lovely evening—I still remember because that was last time…the last time I was happy, sure that Jason loved me.

"Jason read the letter and his face changed so I asked him what was wrong—I knew something was wrong. He said it was nothing but he had to go see someone. Well, Adam, after the problems with Eskith, Murdoch and the murders and such, you can understand how worried I was—I was afraid some enemy from the past had again appeared so…I'm ashamed to say it but I followed him."

"Mariette," I said, "Are you sure you want to tell me all this?"

"Yes, I do so you'll understand why I won't be able bear it if that woman comes to the house. If she does, swear that you'll turn her out, Adam. Swear it!" I said that I couldn't swear anything until I heard it all, so Mariette continued. "I followed Jason to the hotel. I waited for a bit—it was so cold and I almost left and went home but then I went inside. I didn't want to start any gossip so I told the desk clerk that Jason and I were to meet an old family friend from out of town but that I had forgotten what room—could he tell me what room Jason went to? He said that if it was the woman he was thinking of, she was in room 24 so I went up and tried to listen through the door. I know it was an awful thing to do but I was so worried.

"Well, I couldn't hear anything so I stepped back into the shadows and waited. Eventually the door opened and Jason stepped out and I saw a woman in a satin dressing gown in the doorway. Adam, she was beautiful—like a painting. I think I would have preferred it be Gerald Eskith risen from the dead than a woman like that. Jason assured her that he would bring her two hundred dollars the next day and then he left and she closed the door."

"Mariette, I have to admit it sounds suspicious but things aren't always as they seem." My mind was going around in circles trying to come up with a reason other than purchasing favors that would make Jason pay a woman in a state of partial undress two hundred dollars. But then no self-respecting whore would spread her legs first and allow a man to pay later. Things didn't make sense.

"I'm not through, Adam. I didn't know her name and couldn't ask for it at the desk or my lie would be exposed but I watched for her whenever I was out shopping. I would stroll hoping I would see her. She was never at church—I think you yourself would have noticed her, Adam, if she had been because, well, a beautiful stranger would have caught your attention. Anyway, I would go have tea at the hotel's restaurant almost every day hoping to see her and once when Jason was away overnight in Carson City, I took dinner there and I saw her; she was sitting by herself two tables over. I asked the waiter her name—said that she looked vaguely like someone I went to school with. He said that she was staying in the hotel, a Mrs. Freestone and did I want to send a message to her. I lied my way out it by saying that now that I really looked at her, I was wrong—she wasn't my old friend."

"Did anyone join her?" My curiosity was piqued—a beautiful woman without any ties except to Jason Blaine, and that tie, tenuous at best, interested me. I had to find out who she was for myself and why she was in Virginia City.

"No, no one joined her although a man in a suit, probably some drummer, asked if he could join her. I heard their conversation from where I was sitting, but she said that she preferred to be solitary. He tipped his hat and walked on to another table but he watched her the whole time. As I said, she's quite beautiful and, Adam, there's no way I could compete with a woman like that. I was so afraid that Jason would run off with her."

"Do you have any idea how many times Jason saw her?"

"I'm sure that in the three weeks before he died, he saw her about every other day. I didn't follow him but I knew because his excuses were so outlandish and ridiculous; he had to meet with a miner, he needed to visit a site out of town—none of those things happen at night, at least they never had before. And you know how I asked if you could meet with me and the banker tomorrow?" I nodded but listened carefully. Mariette's request hadn't surprised me. I was even going to suggest it as she never did have much sense about money. "I stopped by the bank yesterday and we have only $4.89 in our account. I think Jason gave all the money to her. All of it. I think that's why he was drunk, because he had given Mrs. Freestone all our money and for what? A night's sinful pleasure? She killed him. She's the one who really killed my Jason."

I waited to let Mariette settle down before I spoke. "Mariette, I don't know any whore, no matter how talented, who could financially wipe out a man in two weeks. If what you say is true, that Jason gave her all your money, there's another reason."

Mariette glanced at me with her sad eyes. "I hope so, Adam. I loved him and the thought that he wanted another woman…" Her voice broke and she dabbed at her eyes with her balled-up handkerchief.

We rode the rest of the way in silence and although Mariette hoped that Mrs. Freestone wouldn't be at the reception, I hoped she was. This woman I had to see.


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Freestone never made an appearance at the Ponderosa that day, much to my disappointment and I found the afternoon trying and enervating but the food was delicious. Hop Sing had prepared a light luncheon of sliced cold meats, sliced Stilton and freshly baked sourdough loaves in case anyone cared to make a sandwich. Hoss insisted that pots of mustard—a condiment that had to be imported and was therefore expensive, and bowls of horseradish sauce be included. Hop Sing's pies, cakes and cookies were on the sideboard and we must have gone through gallons of coffee and two large pitchers of buttermilk. Hop Sing spent most of his time in the kitchen washing glasses, cups, saucers and plates so they could be used again. I would occasionally step into the kitchen as the afternoon went on and help dry since I began to doubt that Mrs. Freestone was going to show in our parlor.

All the women who attended the reception, married or single, had brought a covered dish as was the custom. They placed their food dishes on the table and one woman even had the audacity to place her frosted cake on the sideboard amid Hop Sing's desserts. Hop Sing sniffed with disdain at the food and muttered to himself in Chinese.

"What's wrong, Hop Sing?" I asked with feigned ignorance.

"What wrong? All this food! Have to throw out! Why women have to bring food, not know-such a waste. Bah!" He made a dismissive motion with his hands.

"But look, Hop Sing. No one's eating their food—only yours. See?"

Hop Sing looked at the food, then at me and smiled. "You right, Mistah Adam."

"We'll send the other dishes and such home with Mariette and if she doesn't want them, well, you can feed them to the pigs."

"Hummpf," Hop Sing snorted. "Think pigs turn backs—even Ponderosa garbage taste better." I laughed and Hop Sing went back to the kitchen, his pride restored.

It was late afternoon, about an hour before dusk when the last visitor left offering their consolations again to Mariette. Then I took her home after placing a few of the untouched food dishes on the back floorboard of the two-seater buggy. The rest of the crockery, once Hop Sing had dumped the contents and washed them, we would take to church next Sunday for people to claim their platters and bowls.

When I took her home, Mariette and I rode to Virginia City in silence but it was a comfortable silence so when she did speak, it jarred me out of my musings. I had been wondering if Mrs. Freestone was actually a courtesan whose charms Jason Blaine had relished despite being married to lovely Mariette. Granted, Mariette was no longer the dewy bride and during her seven year marriage to Jason, she had suffered two miscarriages and the death of an 8 month old infant whom they had named Benjamin after my father. Her face now had deeply-etched worry lines and showed the sadness and stress she had suffered. Her hair had lost its glossiness and her cheeks, their rosiness. But that's the way of the world and when a man marries a woman, he expects it. Women out here seemed to age so much faster than men and their burden is worse. My father always said that and I believe him even more now.

"Mrs. Freestone didn't show," Mariette said. "Did you notice?" Mariette pulled the afghan around her tighter. Since it was colder now that the sun was so close to setting, I had pulled an afghan out of the chest and wrapped it around her for the ride home.

"Yes," I replied. "She'll probably leave town now."

"What if she doesn't?"

"Then she doesn't." I realized that my response had been not only curt but unsympathetic. "I didn't mean to sound so unfeeling." Mariette smiled gently at me. And I hoped to make amends. "Would you like me to speak to her if she's still in town?"

"Yes…if you don't mind doing that. I've wanted to go see her myself but I don't know how to approach her. Will you go see her, Adam-ask her what she means to do and why she…impoverished us?"

"I'll go see her after I take you home." I was relieved; now I didn't have to debate with myself whether or not I should go see the mysterious Mrs. Freestone-I would see her and my overt intentions were honorable. My prurient motivations need never be revealed.

~ 0 ~

Mariette's jealousy of Mrs. Freestone hadn't caused her to exaggerate Mrs. Freestone's beauty—if anything, she understated it and underestimated its effect on a man. When Mrs. Freestone opened the hotel door at my knock still wearing the black dress she had worn at the funeral, she looked far more like the Madonna than any whore of Babylon. And she was glorious.

"Yes?" She looked at me, her eyes large and dark.

I was taken aback—her presence had practically knocked the breath from me-and I barely managed to answer. "Are you Mrs. Freestone?"

"Yes." She looked at me carefully, her hand still on the doorknob. "You were at the funeral beside Mrs. Blaine."

"Yes. My name is Adam Cartwright."

"You two looked…very close." A small smile played about her mouth—and a lovely mouth it was. I wondered if she often gave a man pleasure with those full, lush lips and if she did, I couldn't blame Jason. Hell, I'd empty my pockets and probably my bank account as well just to have her work on me.

"Mariette—that's Mrs. Blaine's first name—is like a sister to me."

"Of course, she is." I had the definite impression she doubted my veracity. "What do you want Mr. Cartwright? Have you come to finish Jason's business?"

"I don't know because I'm ignorant as to what that business was." I took off my hat. "May I come in?"

She stood and thought for a moment. "Yes, I suppose so." She stepped aside and I walked past her into the hotel room—not their best room but far from their cheapest rooms which were more like sleeping in a closet. But her room was nice and was warm, the stove in the corner heating up the room nicely. On the bed was an open portmanteau and it looked as if she had been packing as one of the drawers of the highboy was open.

"Look as if you're packing to leave."

"Yes, I am. Now what do you want, Mr. Cartwright?" She faced me and sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress rose slightly around her.

I briefly wondered if Mrs. Freestone would allow me to gently push her on her back and toss up her skirts. How much would that cost me, I wondered? But instead I said, "Jason Blaine was giving you money. He has almost wiped out their bank account for you."

"It's no concern of yours."

"You were at the funeral, Mrs. Freestone. Jason must have meant something to you. So why were you there?"

"To make certain he was dead and not up to his old ways of finding an avenue of escape to avoid paying back those he swindled. Suffice it to say, Jason had yet to make total reparations before he died."

"Mrs. Freestone, what was the business between the two of you? Mariette has a right to know. After all, he was her husband and they loved each other."

"As I said, it's none of your business. Now, I have to finish packing." She stood up and smoothed her skirts.

I stood as well, still holding my hat. "I can, of course find out about you with a bit of investigation and if I can't, I can hire a Pinkerton man to do it. Now let's save both of us some trouble and be honest. Why was Jason Blaine paying you? Were you blackmailing him?"

She laughed delightedly and I was taken by surprise. "Of course, Mr. Cartwright. Do you think Jason Blaine would have repaid me one single penny if I didn't have something on him?"

"You were going to tell Mariette about the two of you, weren't you? You and Jason were lovers." The last word left a bad taste in my mouth. The idea of Jason Blaine groaning loudly in satisfaction between the white thighs of such a delicate beauty as Mrs. Freestone inflamed me; I wanted her for myself.

"Lovers?" She laughed again. "No, not at all—although I did consider it at one time years ago. He was a handsome man, after all. Then I realized what he was and, well, let's just say that any attraction he may have held for me dissolved."

Without her invitation, I sat back down and crossed my legs, balancing my hat on my knee—waiting. It seemed that she was going to tell me about their relationship and I found I was relieved that she and Jason hadn't been lovers and it wasn't just for Mariette's sake. Mrs. Freestone sat back down on the bed and looked at me with the oddest expression on her face that I couldn't decipher. It was a cross between amusement and attraction—at least that's what it seemed to me.

"Shall I call the desk clerk to have you removed from my room?" It was a threat but by the look in her eyes, the amusement and the small smile on that beautiful mouth, I knew she wouldn't follow through.

"If you like, but you would be passing up a chance to get the rest of the money you say he owes you. Mariette is the closest thing to a sister to me as I'll ever have-as I told you-and she is devastated at the loss of Jason but it's been compounded by the fact that she thinks that you're…" I didn't want to tell her that Mariette thought she was a common whore. "…that you and Jason were in love."

Mrs. Freestone laughed again, throwing her head back which only exposed her white, elegant neck and throat. Then she recovered herself but continued to smile; she was amused. "Does she think that Jason was paying me for my 'love'? Does your charming Mariette, your dear, sweet 'sister' think such a thing?" She leaned toward me. "Do you think so, Mr. Cartwright? Do you think I'm a whore?"

Mrs. Freestone was a conundrum; she appeared cool and distant but obviously she was worldly. And yet she looked unsullied, untouched by anything sordid. Nevertheless, she spoke as no woman of good society would. I chuckled at her question. "Part of me hopes you are a whore and that you're not too expensive. But then there's the part of me that hopes that you're a respectable woman who will have dinner with me tomorrow night so that we can arrive at a…solution."

"I suppose you'll never know, Mr. Cartwright, as I'm packing to leave. I plan to be on my way back to Sacramento tomorrow."

I didn't want her to leave so I offered the only thing that might convince her to stay—the prospect of more money. "How much more does Jason Blaine owe you? At least to your calculations."

"Three hundred dollars-at least."

I stood up and Mrs. Freestone, surprised, stood as well. "Stay in town," I said. "I'm taking Mrs. Blaine to the bank tomorrow to discuss her finances." I had considered that if the money was needed, shares could be cashed in. Jason owned part of a silver mine—not a large part but my father had given the couple shares for a wedding present. They were in Jason's name and the mine had done well, very well, but I kept that piece of information from Mrs. Freestone. "I'll know how things stand tomorrow and if it there's not enough to settle things with you, then I'll do so, but not without something from you that assures me it's an actual debt-not just some grievance that you feel needs cash to be absolved."

"All right, Mr. Cartwright. I'll meet you downstairs in the restaurant at…shall we say 8:00?"

"8:00 it is. I look forward to seeing you again." I put on my Stetson. "I'll let myself out."

All the way home I barely felt the cold. The wind calmed after the sun had set and the stars glistened in the black sky. It was a waxing moon, the time for new beginnings. Mrs. Freestone was a herald for what was to come—I felt it. My life had changed from the moment I saw her still figure at the funeral. Whether the change was for the better or worse, I didn't know at the time and thank God we can't see what lies ahead or we would never move forward, frozen in the knowledge that grief was nigh. But then we would be denying ourselves great joy as well but it's not really a fair trade.


	4. Chapter 4

Mariette paced back and forth in her parlor. I sat and tried to calm her but she was almost hysterical again. Pa had been worried about her, she had been so sad, so on his suggestion, I had driven the closed buggy into town in order to bring Mariette to stay with us for a while. Pa asked me to talk her into coming out "since she trusts you so much."

"But, Adam," she said, close to panic, "what am I going to do. How am I going to live?"

"Mariette," I said as calmly as I could, "sit and drink your tea. You have us and nothing bad will happen to you—we'll see to it. If you like, you can move in with us. We'd all love to have you back at the Ponderosa." But Mariette's financial worries weren't imagined. She and I had earlier been to the bank and found out that Jason was going to turn over his shares of the silver mine to Mrs. Charity Freestone. I had asked if Mrs. Freestone's husband's name was to be on the share certificate as well but it wasn't. That fact made me decide that Mrs. Freestone wasn't married despite the title; she was either a widow or had never been married and assumed the title for respectability.

"But, Adam, why would Jason do this? Why would he give that woman everything we own?" Mariette was coming apart before my eyes.

I stood and held Mariette by the arms. "Calm down and get a hold of yourself. I'll get to the bottom of this. I'm meeting Mrs. Freestone for dinner tonight; I'll find out all the details and I'll let you know. Now sit down and drink your tea." I led her to a chair and gently pushed her down to it. She picked up her teacup and saucer and the cup rattled. She was still upset. "Mariette, think. Did Jason ever mention anyone named Charity? Are you sure he never mentioned the name Freestone?"

She sat and thought, her brows drawn. Then she shook her head. "No, Adam. Jason never mentioned another woman—I just found out about her, like I told you, from following him. I waited for him to say something, hoped he would but he never did. Oh, Adam" she said glancing up at me piteously. "Do you think Jason was in love with her? Maybe he was planning to run away with her."

"Now don't be foolish," I said trying to sound convincing. After all, I had sat in the same room with Mrs. Freestone, had seen how elegantly she moved and how enticing she was; she did set a man's imagination running wild and I would think she had the same effect on Jason. I wouldn't blame him too much if he had been in love with her. "With you as his wife, Jason would have no need to even look at another woman; he'd have no reason to." I smiled, leaned down and kissed her brow. "Now I have business to take care of before I meet with Mrs. Freestone at 8:00. You just relax and don't worry about anything. If you like, I can pick you up before I head back to the Ponderosa; you can spend a few days with us. We would all love it. How about it?"

"Oh, that would be so nice, Adam. It would be like when I was a girl. I always felt so safe and loved on the Ponderosa."

"That's because you were and still are. Now I've got to go."

"All right." Mariette put down her teacup and walked me to the door. "What time tonight should I expect you?"

"About 10:00. Plan to stay with us for at least a week—hopefully longer-maybe permanently." I kissed her on the cheek. She smiled that endearing smile but I knew that if it came to choosing between someone like Mariette or Charity Freestone, it'd be Charity's bed I'd wallow in. It wouldn't even be close. Jason thought so as well, I'm sure. In that way, we men are all alike. Offer us a faithful, kind woman and we'll take the sexually attractive one over the other. It's our primal instincts rising to the surface and there's no getting away from it.

~ 0 ~

Since I was wearing my suede jacket and everyday work clothes, I felt sorely underdressed once I walked into the hotel's dining room and saw her; Mrs. Freestone was stunning in green. I can't tell you what the fabric was or the type of lace on the bodice but I can tell you that she was the most beautiful woman in the room. The pearls she wore dangling from her ears glowed in the candle light and her skin was as flawless and lustrous as the pearls. I was at a loss as to what to say until she smiled at me and then I felt a warmth toward her that was unrelated to desire—not that I didn't feel lust as well, but I felt a certain affinity with her. I can't really explain it any other way but there was suddenly no awkwardness between us.

I ordered our dinner but for the life of me, I can't remember what I ate—all I can remember from that night is that Charity was beautiful and delightful and enchanting-and I fell in love with her. I don't know exactly when, what she said or did that made my heart her slave but by the end of the evening, I was completely enthralled. Everything else is a blur about the evening except for her and what she said in her melodious voice.

As we sat in the candlelight, other patrons eating and talking and leaving and arriving—well, I'm assuming life went on about us but others faded into the background as Charity told me of her past. I wanted to hear and yet I didn't as I felt our life together started that night. Yes, she had been Murdoch's mistress, she confessed and had never been married. No, she hadn't known about Murdoch's night riders and the killings and the terror he and his gang inflicted on the others with the help of Jason Blaine and another assayer until much later.

One night Jason visited her in her suite and he was terrified. He was panicked; the law was catching up with Murdoch and his vigilantes and Jason wanted out, he wanted to go straight and needed to get away. So he had sat in her rooms at the hotel in which she lived and informed Charity of all that had been going on. She had been appalled. Jason begged her for a loan—said he would pay it back—he swore it. Jason knew Charity had a few thousand dollars in an account in the First Bank of San Francisco. Charity asked Jason how he knew all this information as she didn't really trust him. In her earlier dealings with Jason, he had made advances toward her even though he knew about her alliance with Murdoch and Charity had considered Jason the man to save her from Murdoch who wasn't the man she had originally thought he was. Murdoch showed no inclination to marry her as he had initially promised. Then Charity discovered Murdoch was already married but she knew no way to extricate herself from the situation—except perhaps for Jason. But when Murdoch threatened to castrate Jason if he even looked at Charity again, Jason ignored her from then on.

Anyway, after she questioned Jason about his knowledge of her money as she herself was basically ignorant of the amount, he laughed and replied that there were quite a few things he knew about her and how she was being used by Murdoch in more ways than one. It was only later when she had time to consider all things that she wondered if she was being used to hide Murdoch's blood money


	5. Chapter 5

Jason asked Charity for a loan, said that he needed the money to leave, to go where no one knew about him and his association with Murdoch and Eskith and that he swore that he would return the money as soon as he could. He also told Charity that she should get out as well as it looked as if the law was going to come down on all of them and soon. It would be a shame if she was arrested and tried as an accomplice when she was ignorant of Murdoch's criminal activity.

She and Jason went to the bank and Charity asked to empty her account; it held almost $8,000 dollars. She kept $4,000 and loaned Jason the rest. He thanked her and asked where she would be so that he could repay her. She said that she was going to the small town in which she had been raised, Alliance, Nebraska. Her mother and brother and his family still lived there and they would take her in. Jason said he would write her there and send the money.

"But when I asked Jason where he would be, he avoided telling me. It was then I became concerned. I didn't know if he was going to use the information about me to avoid having to pay back the money by telling Murdoch that I had taken it all and left town. And yes, I know I shouldn't have taken any of it and that you might be thinking that it wasn't my money, but…well, I needed it to save myself and it was, so to speak, my salary for all I did."

I remember vividly how Charity had dropped her gaze and a deep rosy hue filled her cheeks. She was embarrassed to reveal the fact that Murdoch had taken her for his, that she had given herself to him without benefit of marriage and that any future husband she may have would be robbed of being the first man in her life. But I could understand. Charity Freestone—and the "Mrs." was just an adopted title- was a beautiful young woman from a small, backwater town who found it flattering that a man as wealthy and powerful as Murdoch wanted to keep her and as she had later said, it wasn't so difficult to be a mistress. One just had to play a role and she was good at that. It was how she had amused herself as a young girl, pretending to be a princess or a lost heiress and that one day her wealthy father would find her and take her away. I had smiled at that; I had often lived in my head as a child as well. And who was I to judge her anyway?

"Nevertheless," she continued, "when Murdoch went on trial in Sacramento, he and the other men, I was subpoenaed to attend-as a witness. A detective from San Francisco had been hired to find me and take me to Sacramento where the trial was to be held—a change of venue for the safety of the witnesses. But I didn't feel safe. I remember when Murdoch saw me. I don't know why but as soon as I stepped into the courtroom, he turned and our eyes met. And he smiled at me-oddly. Anyway, I panicked. I really couldn't have testified to anything except the money—the amount but I was certain that Murdoch wanted me dead. At the trial, I felt safe. I always had a federal marshal with me but when I was alone in the hotel room—that's when I was afraid. Once when I was walking to the courthouse, a man stepped out in the street and pulled a gun but he was shot down by the second marshal who always walked a few feet behind my escort and me. I had never seen a man shot before and the knowledge that he was trying to kill me was terrifying and in a manner, liberating." She had looked directly at me and the candlelight made her eyes look even darker. "Fate can't be avoided and we never know what's behind the next corner—is it wonder and joy or is it the end—who knows but one has to meet it head-on. Anyway, it was at the trial that I saw Jason Blaine again.

"I never had to take the stand; the prosecutor decided that I had no information that would be valuable to a conviction but I had to stay throughout-just in case I needed to be called. That's when I found out that Jason had a wife, a small, timid thing who I never really saw as she sat in the front and the marshals always seated me in the back row. She sat through the trial until Jason's testimony was complete and he was remanded. I considered asking her for the money but decided against it even though Jason was sent to prison for a year and I would have to wait. So I did. When Jason was released, I visited him in Virginia City. That was a few years back; he had set up as an assayer again but he said he wasn't yet established and that he hadn't saved any money. Besides, he said, his wife had been poorly so I went to Sacramento and used what was left of the money to live. My mother had died and my brother had his own family to support; I had given him some of the money when I lived with them but I needed the rest of it repaid or I would have to…find work and it seemed I had only one talent. So I came to Virginia City again and found out that Jason was doing well—very well. Not only that, he was well-respected. I almost laughed when the desk clerk told me when I asked about him under the guise of inquiring about an old friend.

"I asked Jason for my money-walked into his office and more or less demanded it. At first he said that he wasn't going to return any money, that all I had to do to earn more was fall on my back…and some other crude comments about finding a job at some of the local brothels. He said that it wasn't really my money anyway, that I had been used by Murdoch to hide money. So I threatened to tell his wife about the money, tell her how he had borrowed it from me and swore he would return it. And that seemed to do it. He began to pay me back. A hundred one night, two hundred the next and each time he cried hardship. But he doesn't know hardship. He doesn't know what I went through—how I had humiliated myself to survive—nor did he care."

I held her right hand—so elegant, so small and white. I raised it to my lips and kissed it and then held it in both of mine.

"Don't leave tomorrow," I said. "Stay here, stay in Virginia City. I…I want to know you better, Charity Freestone. You are the most enchanting woman I've ever known—and the most endearing." Perhaps I was flowery, hyperbolic in my praise but I meant it. Charity was enchanting—and so beautiful it broke my heart. No one has the right to own such glorious beauty but I wanted to bask in its reflection. I wanted Charity.

I remember the surprised look on her face and she curled her fingers around mine. It felt as if by doing that, she had my gripped my heart and held onto it. I knew I would never be released but gladly surrendered. The skeptic in me screamed that I was just falling in love with the idea of helping a lady in distress, that all those books I devoured as a boy-the tales of King Arthur,i _Ivanhoe/i _and all the fairy tales where a prince rescues the fair maiden had influenced me. But my baser side urged me on to desire this beauty who blazed with life and energy and intelligence. I could almost feel her pressed under me, those lovely round arms about my neck, my mouth on hers and I heated up like a stallion let loose on a mare.

"Why would you want me to stay?" she asked.

"Because I don't want you to leave. Simple enough. I want to keep you here with me…forever." I pulled her hand to my mouth again and gave it a lingering kiss. I remember she looked around quickly, slightly embarrassed, so I looked about as well and except for the two of us, the dining room was empty but for one lone waiter who stood patiently by the kitchen waiting to deliver anything else we desired. "It must be late." I reluctantly released her hand to pull out my watch-it was 11:45. Mariette would be worried about me but somehow, she didn't matter as much.

"Yes," Charity said, composing herself. "I need to get some sleep since I'm…" She looked at me with a subtle yearning. "Do you really want me to stay…a bit longer?"

"A bit longer? No. Forever? Yes."

Charity blushed like a young girl and in a manner she was. For being so worldly, there was still something innocent about her, a vulnerability that I treasured. We must have looked as if we were about to leave because the waiter rushed over and asked if there was anything else we needed—more coffee, perhaps, but Charity demurred and so I paid the tab and gave the waiter a large tip for his patience. I walked Charity up to her room. At her door, she turned to face me.

"I will stay, Mr. Cartwright, another day…as you asked."

I smiled like a damn cretin, grinned as if I'd never stop. "Good. And please call me Adam. Will you have dinner at the Ponderosa tomorrow evening, Mrs. Freestone? I want my family to meet you."

"To meet me? Why?"

"Why not? Since we're going to marry…" She looked shocked. "Not right now, of course—it is late. But soon—maybe in the morning." I grinned again-God, she made me smile just to look at her.

Charity was speechless. "You do have an odd sense of humor—Adam."

"Oh, but I'm not joking." I moved closer to her, my pulse racing. How she made me feel, I can't even describe but I'll try. It was a mixture of exultation and desire and tenderness, a jumble of emotions and all I wanted was to spend what was left of my life with her.

"But I told you about myself, about my being Murdoch's mistress. Why would you want me after that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I roughly pulled her to me. The scent of her skin and hair made me dizzy—damn, I was in love. I kissed her then and it felt as if I knew her in my bones. Charity was going to be my wife and I swore to myself I would revere her and keep her and overwhelm her with all I had to give. It seemed as if I had waited my whole life for her—the taste of her mouth and the way her body fit against mine. And I could wait a bit longer. I decided right then that I would treat her as if she was a pure, young girl who had never known a man and I would court her and convince her of my devotion and then we would marry and consummate our relationship-only then—on our wedding night. I held her beautiful face in my hands as if it was a delicate, priceless treasure. "I'm going to marry you, Charity Freestone. And I will make you the happiest woman on all seven continents." I kissed her again and left her standing in her open doorway, her mouth slightly open in surprise. But before I rounded the staircase, I looked back and tipped my hat to her. I sailed down the stairs and grinned all the way home. And I still smile when I think of that night when my destiny—and hers- had been decided. And then I want to weep.


	6. Chapter 6

There have been my things over the years I've wanted, yearned for, and other than my first horse which opened the door to many things, everything else has been a disappointment. That is, except for Charity as every moment I spent in her company made me only love her more. It shouldn't work that way, at least not to my experience. The more I courted a woman, the more I saw of her, the less convinced I became that she was the correct woman for me; perhaps it was just fear or cowardice but all the woman's bad habits—or what I saw as bad habits-would begin to annoy me and I would become unpleasant—okay, I would become a sarcastic, snide SOB and we would part ways. But I knew in the depths of my soul that Charity was the one woman who the more I was with, the more I would desire. I know it's a contradiction; it's like eating more and more but instead of the hunger being sated, it only made it d greater. Every experience with Charity was different from those with any other woman I'd ever met—or ever will meet. She caused me to see the world in a new way—to see myself in a new way and the future. I saw joy ahead and a happiness that I always coveted in others.

If I had told that to my brothers, that except for owning a horse, Charity was the only other desire that when fulfilled, didn't disappoint, they would have made some comment about my enjoying riding both of them hard. But it wasn't that way; I never went further than urgent kisses and running my hands over Charity's rounded body even after she accepted my proposal. I could hold myself back because I knew that we would soon be married. Therefore, I could contain my lust for her until then, until she came to me as a blushing bride, as my wife. I had envisioned it all but it hadn't yet happened-not for a few weeks yet and I still had to deal with my family and with Mariette before our happiness, Charity's and mine, became complete.

That evening when I arrived at Mariette's after my dinner with Charity, she was again in a frenzied state. Mariette threw her arms about me as soon as I walked in. "Oh, Adam. I was so worried. You're so late. I was afraid something had happened to you."

I took both her hands and held them in mine. "I'm sorry, Mariette. I'm sorry I caused you worry, it's just that dinner lasted longer than I'd expected."

"Why? What happened? Did that woman tell you about Jason? Is she going to return our money?"

"I'll tell you on the ride to the Ponderosa. Now let's get your coat and hat and your valise." I picked up her bag and escorted her to the buggy. I helped Mariette in and then unfolded the buggy blanket over her lap. She smiled at me—that sad little smile she had and I saw her as the young girl she once was—so pure and innocent and my feelings of protectiveness rose to the surface again.

It was a cold ride to the Ponderosa and it was a bitter night. My guilt at feeling the way I did about Charity—completely enamored-while Mariette saw her as the instrument of Jason's destruction made things even more difficult. And when I told her that Jason had borrowed money from Mrs. Freestone and that under "duress"—I chose my words carefully-he wanted to repay the money as quickly as possible, I noticed how she remained still—almost as if she was cataleptic. That was Mariette. She reminded me of those small prey animals who freeze hoping not to be noticed by the slithering snake or the hawk that flies overhead. I emphasized that paying the debt was the only reason for Jason's many visits to Mrs. Freestone.

"But Jason could have explained it to me," Mariette said after my explanation, "if what Mrs. Freestone said was true. Maybe she lied to you, Adam. Even if she's not a whore—and I still think she is—she is cruel and demanding. I know that's why Jason drank that day. He was upset about having to give her all our money. I'm sure he didn't know how we were going to live and so he stopped by the saloon. She killed him, Adam. It wasn't the horse shying as people said or the icy street that caused the horse to slip and Jason to fall—it all comes down to her. She's responsible. My Jason is dead because of her."

"Mariette, even if that is the reason that Jason was drunk, and we don't know that it was, a man is responsible for his own actions. Charity couldn't make Jason drink. She didn't hold him down and pour the whiskey down his throat. He drank because he wanted to and he didn't tell you about the loan because he didn't want to. You can't blame her because she wanted back what was hers in the first place—the money. Jason borrowed it with the promise of repayment and when she needed her money—and her needing it is beside the point since it was her money and it's been five years since Jason begged her for it, well, he should have long earlier repaid it. The only recourse Charity had was to threaten him with telling you about it. I think he couldn't bear the thought of your disapproval, Mariette. Jason did love you and you have to stop blaming Charity for his death. It'll be better for you to stop assigning blame."

I had stood up for Charity Freestone and felt I had done the right thing. What I wanted to tell Mariette was that her "beloved" Jason was a thief and a liar and that once I had caught him pocketing a nugget from the samples a miner had brought into his office. But I couldn't break Mariette's heart like that. After all, Jason was dead and couldn't defend himself and he had later apologized when I mentioned what I had witnessed.

I had stopped by Jason's office with a silver sample for him to assay and admired the good-sized gold nuggets the miner had on the counter; they must have been worth at least $2,000. The miner grinned when Jason told him that they were indeed excellent quality gold and gave him the weight and value per ounce. When the miner left, I told Jason what I had seen, that I had watched while he palmed the nugget. Jason blushed deeply and pulled the nugget out of his pocket and said that he was thinking only of their baby Benjamin. Jason claimed he wasn't a thief and it wasn't a large nugget. Their child was ill, seemed to have episodes where he couldn't breathe and struggled desperately for every gasp of air; it was destroying Mariette. Jason wanted to take Benjamin to a specialist in San Francisco but they needed money to do so. If he weren't so desperate, he never would have considered stealing it, he said and I swear he began to cry. He dropped into a chair and held his face in his hands and cried. I felt like a cold-hearted bastard so I told Jason that I would give him the money for the doctor and the fare for the stage and the cost of a hotel. Jason thanked me and said he would pay me back as soon as he could. I took the nugget from him—decided I would tell the miner he had dropped it on the floor and Jason asked me to return it. I couldn't say that Jason Blaine, the trusted assayer, had tried to filch it; Jason would never work again in Virginia City and where would that leave Mariette?

So I gave Jason the money—five hundred dollars from my personal account. Needless to say, Jason never paid me back for the loan and Mariette never knew it transpired but there was more. The day before Mariette, baby Benjamin and Jason were to leave for San Francisco, I stopped by to see them. Jason wasn't home. Benjamin was a sweet baby but he was unusually small and it was easy to see he was sickly. His chest seemed almost concave—it dished in. Mariette hugged me and effused over what a wonderful father I had. I told her I already knew that but what had happened? She told me that he had paid for their trip. She had tried to refuse, she said, but my father had insisted and so they accepted. "And, Adam, your father said that it wasn't a loan—it was a gift." She had stood smiling, tears brimming in her eyes and it was all I could do to not tell her what a conniving bastard she had married, that Jason had already taken the money to cover the trip and more from me. Instead I asked her what Jason had said about the taking the money from my father. "He didn't say anything," she had replied, "but then you know how Jason is about me and your family—he never really feels as if he's a part of it, as if he's truly welcome. I tell him it's ridiculous but Jason, well, he only really trusts me. In that way, Adam, he reminds me of you; you never really trust anyone either."

I said nothing more at the time but remembering the money and that trip, I began to seethe while Mariette continued to blame Charity for Jason's death. I loved Mariette and I know I should have taken her side if for no other reason than to let her know I was behind her, but I couldn't.

Mariette looked at me in wonderment. "Are you defending that woman, Adam? And are you on a first name basis after just one meeting?"

"Mariette, she's not _that woman._ Her name is Charity Freestone and she seems to be…."

"What? To be what?" Mariette asked almost in a whisper. She shivered and pulled the lap blanket up around her neck letting it fall open to its full length. "She's bewitched you too, Adam, just as she did Jason." Mariette pulled the blanket up higher and bent her head to cry into the plaid fabric.

"Mariette…" I didn't know what to say. I was disloyal—I had abandoned Mariette and her problems for Charity and her kisses. Perhaps I had been bewitched…bewitched by Charity's allure and her small white hands, delicate and agile; oh, I imagined how they would feel fluttering gently over my body, touching me lightly, teasing me and toying with me, caressing my face. It makes me groan just to think about it. And then there was her rounded bosom and her rosy lips. Perhaps it was the promise of what was hidden from sight, the possibility of lavishing in her bed that had won me to Charity's side. I am weak and lustful as I confessed early on and I am a fool for a woman who needs me and if she's beautiful, well, I'm as easy to manipulate as clay.

But Mariette couldn't see Charity as I did-that was a given. I put my arm around Mariette and gently pulled her to me and she dropped her head on my shoulder, quietly sobbing. I considered telling her that I had invited Mrs. Freestone for dinner the following evening but reconsidered. Mariette was having a hard enough time with my calling Mrs. Freestone by her first name—Charity. "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these _is_ charity." That Bible verse had been running through my head all evening as I felt that Charity fulfilled her name. She had been generous with her money, helping out the ungrateful Jason Blaine and the fact that she had also been generous with her body in the past, well, that was the past and soon I would ask her to marry me. I had made up my mind. And I was sure the she would show "charity" toward Mariette and forgive her for any pejorative opinions Mariette held of her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: I wasn't going to post today because this is such a short section but it does advance the plot.**

"Adam," my father said, keeping his voice low, "our door is always open to others—you know that—but I don't think it's prudent to invite Mrs. Freestone here while Mariette is our houseguest. If what Mariette told me this morning is true—and I don't think Mariette would lie-having Jason's mistress sit at the same table with his wife, well…"

"I told you, Pa, Mrs. Freestone wasn't Jason's mistress. Did you not listen to anything I said?"

"Don't raise your voice to me." I wanted to tell him that I'd raise my voice, I'd raise hell or anything else I wanted but kept quiet; I needed my father on my side. He continued and I kept my mouth shut. "It doesn't matter what is or isn't true, it's what Mariette thinks and she also thinks that you've turned against her. That's what hurts her the most. She was actually crying, Adam. You've broken her heart. You and Mariette, well, the two of you have always been close, closer than either her and Hoss or Joe. For a time there, I thought that maybe a romance would spring up between the two of you since you spent so much time together—and I wouldn't have minded. She's such a good, gentle girl and I would have liked to make her my true daughter—well, daughter-in-law. You know how Mariette admires you—thinks the world of you and now, not only has she lost Jason but she thinks she's lost you too, lost both of you to Mrs. Freestone. How can you expect her to sit at table with that woman?"

That both Mariette and my father insisted on referring to Charity as "that woman," galled me to no end. "Her name is Charity Freestone—not 'that woman.' And I have already invited her to dinner tonight and she accepted. I hope that you'll be gracious." I knew he would be. My father could be a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch if the situation called for it but he was a gracious host, always wanting any guest in our home to feel comfortable and welcome. "As for Mariette, she's wrong. I think that when she gets to know Charity better, she'll like her and won't see her as a threat. As for the money situation…" I had earlier told my father about the loan and it had started this whole conversation. I informed him that Jason owed money to 'Mrs. Freestone," had pleaded for her to loan it to him years ago and never endeavored to pay it back. "…I think I can resolve that."

"How?" My father looked askance at me. My whole family knew that I had a head for numbers and was prudent with money so they took seriously anything I said about finances. My 'frugality' was a source of jokes as was my college education but my advice on money was always taken seriously.

I considered my words carefully. "I want to marry Mrs. Freestone and then she won't need the shares of the mine—I'll give her part of my shares in her own name." You should have seen my father's face. You would have thought I said I wanted to consummate our wedding vows on the dining room table. I think my pa expected me to suddenly grin and say I was joking—but I wasn't.

"What? What are you saying?" His voice had dropped and he looked about as if he was afraid someone else might be listening.

"You heard me; I want to marry Charity Freestone."

"But…Adam, you just met her…what? Yesterday?"

"I know. I was there."

My father didn't take to my flippant attitude and gathered himself. He shook his head. "Adam, I don't know if you're serious or not but…"

"I'm serious, Pa. I want to marry Charity and I feel a sense of urgency about it. I've waited long enough to find happiness with a woman so I want to marry her as soon as I can. I told her last night, told her that I wanted to marry her."

"This is…" My father stepped away, and turned his back to me. "I can't believe this."

"I would think you'd like to meet her. That's why I invited her for dinner tonight. I hope then you can see why I feel the way I do about her but even if you can't, well, I'm going to marry her anyway. And soon. I've already picked out the spot to build our…home." I almost said 'house' but it wouldn't be just our house—it would be our home, the place where I would go at the end of each day and be able to rest my head and my troubles and find pleasure in the woman I chose for my wife, my helpmeet, my friend. My father said nothing—just looked incredulous. "Well, I'm going to wash up and change and then I'm heading to town to get Charity. Hop Sing said dinner will be at eight. See that a place is set for her, will you?" I left my father standing alone while I went to the washhouse. And I found that I was whistling. I was to see Charity in just a few hours and that prospect was exhilarating; I don't think I've ever felt more alive than during that time with Charity.

~ 0 ~

Mariette did not take to Charity. Our dinner was stiff and uncomfortable and Hoss and Joe would steal looks at Charity as if she had been forbidden to them and then look at one another. My father was his usual gracious self, playing the convivial host but I saw through the façade. His questions to her, innocently posed to start conversation, were crafted to lead to her discussing her past and Murdoch and her part in the killings of miners and the terrorizing "night riders." But I would change the subject immediately and my father would look a bit frustrated. Charity just looked confused.

His questions were innocent enough on the surface: "And what brings you to Virginia City?" That query appears to be bereft of malice but when put to Charity who came to collect an old debt from Jason Blaine, well, you can see what I mean. But I always saved her from having to answer by talking about something else or answering for her as subtly as I could. But the worst was that halfway through the meal, Mariette broke out into tears and sobbing, rushed from the table, holding her napkin to her face.


	8. Chapter 8

"Adam would you go see to her?" My father looked to me. I placed my arm across the back of Charity's chair.

"I think she'd rather talk to you," I said. I wasn't sure of his reason for asking me but I was loathe to leave Charity alone at the table—I wouldn't be able to intervene and prevent her any embarrassment.

Then Charity spoke up. "It's all right, Adam. You should go talk to Mariette. I know how fond of each other you are." She looked at the faces of my family—even Hop Sing had come out at the kitchen at hearing the sobs and my father, standing and calling after Mariette.

"What wrong with Missy Mariette?" Hop Sing asked. His brows were drawn and he glanced at Charity who looked even more beautiful tonight than she had the night before. Apparently he had been informed about Charity as well—and why not? Why shouldn't they all know why Mariette detested Charity? When Hop Sing had served the food, he practically glowered at Charity. I had taken her hand and held it for a few moments until my father said grace.

Charity looked at me again. "You told me you two were close. Please go talk to her and then, I wish you'd take me back to town. I think I may be the problem."

"No, not you. Mariette's just been going through a bad time and perhaps seeing us happy reminded her of when…" But I knew it wasn't true and so did Charity; it wasn't a "just"—it wasn't that trivial. "All right, I'll go but as for taking you back so soon, well, we'll discuss that." I rose from the table, pushing back my chair, and on an impulse, I leaned down and kissed Charity. I expected it to be a quick kiss but her sweet mouth yielded to me and I kissed her fully, yearning to take her in my arms and kiss her until her lips were swollen and bruised. But I left for upstairs.

Standing outside her door, the room Mariette always had and that we still referred to as "Mariette's Room," I could hear her crying. I don't like to hear a woman or a child cry and I always feel the onus to solve the problem. And I had, over the years, solved so many of Mariette's problems but I didn't know about this one, about whether or not I would be able to solve it—or if I even wanted to. I realized that I was angry with Mariette, angry that she had influenced my family not to like Charity, not to see her as the woman she truly was. I also am honest enough with myself to consider that perhaps I saw Charity through the eyes of a man in love and that I saw virtues in her she didn't own—but I was in love-desperately.

I rapped on Mariette's door. She called out for me to go away but I knew she didn't mean it—and for all she knew, I could have been my father or Joe or Hoss—I had yet to say anything.

"Mariette, it's me. I think we should talk about this."

"I don't think…it's just that I keep thinking of her and…" She sobbed anew. "Your father said you're going to marry Mrs. Freestone and that I should accept it and try to get along as we'll be…sisters."

That surprised me. I had thought that my father would take Mariette's side against me but he had actually, at least according to Mariette, supported me and tried to convince her to forgive and move on. My father is a realist, always has been and knows to accept things that can't be changed. Now that I knew his attitude, I felt more confident. Charity would soon win over Joe and Hoss—she was beautiful and charming and it wouldn't be long before they would be at her beck and call. Why even Hop Sing would eventually come around once he knew Charity. But I still had to make peace with Mariette so I knocked again.

"Mariette, I'm coming in." I opened the door and she sat up on the bed where she had obviously lain and cried. She wiped the tears from her face with the napkin she still held. I squatted down before her the same way I used to when she was a child and was so small. It would put us on the same level then and I felt again how I did when she would come running to me, crying because she had hurt herself playing with Hoss and Joe and they had just brushed it off. I would hold her in my lap and stroke her hair until she stopped crying. Then I would swing her up and take her riding on my shoulders—that always made her laugh and together, we would intimidate the two ruffians. And many times Mariette would tell me about someone at school bullying her or the girl who had sneered "beggar-orphan." I always helped Mariette in those situations—sometimes with advice and sometimes with my presence. "Now, I know how you feel about Charity but, Mariette, you're wrong."

"Oh, Adam, can't you see that woman for what she is? An adventuress, a man-eater. She destroyed Jason and now she's on her way to destroying you. Why are men such a fool for a pretty face?"

"Now, Mariette, many a young man has been a fool over your lovely face—including me. Couldn't you always wrap me—actually, any of us—around your little finger with just a smile?" I grinned up at her and was rewarded with a smile breaking out over her face.

"Oh, Adam. I do love you and that's why I…why I had to leave the table. To see the way you look at that woman…"

Again, "that woman," but I said nothing.

"I just wonder if Jason looked at her the same way. Oh, Adam…" Mariette began to cry again. "Sometimes I don't think I can go on—I just want to end it—end the pain."

I wasn't sure what Mariette meant but the intimation that she may harm herself sent my heart pounding. She had always tended to be overdramatic; when she was young and would come to tell me of some horrid circumstance, her eyes would get big and she would dramatize everything. But I wasn't sure if she was just trying to make the situation of Charity sitting downstairs at our table more consequential than it was. Nevertheless, I rose and sat beside Mariette on the bed. She fell into my arms and sobbed as if her heart was broken beyond repair. I had observed grief before-my father's grief at the loss of both Marie and Inger, Joe's complete and paralyzing grief at losing Amy Bishop in a horrible accident. Hoss had almost been destroyed by the inevitable early death from consumption of Emily Pennington but I myself, although I'd faced sadness at the death of someone I cared for, had never experienced losing someone I loved more than my life.

And here was Mariette who lost a husband who had meant all to her and although I tried to understand her losing the desire to face the next day, I couldn't. "Mariette," I murmured as I held her, "life is full of wonder and although Jason is gone, he's not really. He's still in all our hearts, especially yours, and he lives in your thoughts and I expect that soon, you'll be able to think about him and the things he used to do and you'll smile. He wouldn't want you this unhappy."

Mariette sat up and wiped her eyes again. I still had my arm around her and bent my head to look into her face. I was again rewarded with a shy smile.

"Now come back downstairs and finish your meal."

"No, Adam. I….I behaved like a fool and all this crying has given me a headache. I think I'll just change for bed and put a cool cloth on my forehead. I'll be all right." She smiled at me again and then kissed my cheek. "You go and enjoy your evening. Give my apologies to your family…and Mrs. Freestone."

I almost told Mariette to call her "Charity" but since she hadn't referred to Charity as "that woman," I left well-enough alone.


	9. Chapter 9

"I know you're upset that I wanted to leave." Charity sat close beside me on the buggy seat, her hands tucked inside her fur muff, the hood of her cape pulled up and blocking her lovely face from view. I hadn't wanted to take her back her to town just yet, had even hoped she would stay overnight and not for any lascivious reason; I wasn't going to scratch on her door when everyone else was asleep and beg her to let me in. Not that I wouldn't have kept her out had she come to my room, but I just didn't want to say goodnight to her and leave her again Each separation was becoming more difficult for me and I always wanted to hold her longer, to kiss her and hear her voice and smell her hair—I wanted to be with her.

But I couldn't find the words to tell her that so, as usual, I just said what came easily. That's the problem with words—you can't say exactly what you feel so we all just do our best and that's why no one really understands anyone else. "Not really. This only gives me more time to be alone with you." I was rewarded—she looked up at me and her hood fell slightly back. "I would have liked my family to get to know you better but, well, there'll be enough time after we're married." I looked back at the road and couldn't help but smile.

"You seem sure of that but I haven't yet said that I would marry you nor have you even bothered to ask me."

I pulled up the horse and Charity seemed surprised that we stopped. "Why you're right—I haven't asked. So what do you say? Will you marry me, Charity Freestone?"

"Well, I…" She looked down at her muff and then glanced up at me with a gentle smile. "Yes, Mr. Cartwright, I will."

I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs—so I did. I stood in the open buggy and let the world know that Charity Freestone was going to be Mrs. Adam Cartwright making me the luckiest man in the world. She tugged at my jacket, flustered.

"Adam, sit down. What if someone hears you? You never know who else might be traveling on this road."

I laughed but sat back down and pulled her to me. Up to that point in my life, I had never been happier. "I want someone to hear—I want the whole world to hear and they will." I kissed her again and again, her brow, her cheeks, her mouth. I told her I loved her-that I adored her and I suppose I overwhelmed her with my emotions but I wanted Charity to know how I felt. Words always seem inadequate as they do now. I suppose that's why men and women lay together—it's the closest to becoming one being, to joining hearts and souls. It is truly making love-making the emotion incarnate and nothing like the mechanical act that happens when it's bought for a dollar or two. Love changes all.

"Adam." Charity looked down and gently pulled away. I tilted up her chin. "This is all so new to me—feeling like this. I wonder though—are we too rash? We barely know each other. What of you grow to despise me?"

"I'd sooner despise myself. And if you back out now—well, there is such a tradition as bride kidnapping."

"What?" She laughed and I couldn't help but kiss her.

"Bride kidnapping. It's even condoned in the Bible. There is the example of Benjamin's sons stealing their brides, the daughters of Shiloh."

"You're making that up because your father's name is Benjamin."

"No, no, I'm not. I suppose I'm going to need to expand your spiritual teaching, my little heathen. You see…"I took the stance of teaching a young child. Charity smiled and looked at me with suspicion. "in some cultures, if a man wants a wife, he waits in hiding until the woman he desires is alone and then he abducts her up and spirits her away. They spend a month together and hopefully, she'll be with child at the end of that month and her family will approve the 'marriage' and no longer want to slit his throat."

"What if 'she' wants to slit his throat?"

"I can't think of a better way to die." I kissed her again. Then I sat back, smiling. Charity reached up and caressed my face, kissed my chin and I fought against crying—blubbering like some half-wit. I felt like a damn fool as the ache of all those years of loneliness welled up and threatened to burst under her tenderness toward me. I grabbed her hands and pulled them from my face Charity was confused and I realized I had been too rough.

"I need to get you back before you catch cold." It was the best I could manage and I struggled to keep my voice natural as my throat was thick with emotion. But when I snapped the reins and we started, Charity slipped an arm through mine, abandoning her fur muff to hold on to me and that made me feel wanted. It's important to a man to feel wanted, to feel needed and to feel loved. It's not only important-it's vital. But then I suppose it is for everyone.


	10. Chapter 10

Once Charity accepted my marriage proposal, I saw no reason to wait—life is too short to waste time just getting to know one another when you're sure and I was sure. "We'll get to know each other better once we're married," I said. "I don't need to spend a year or more courting you—I know you're the woman for me already."

"How can you be so certain, Adam? I'm not as wonderful as you seem to think I am." I had just laughed at that. I was going to marry her and no one was going to come between us.

Things had smoothed over with Mariette. She had been more than civil whenever I brought Charity over for dinner as I often did during those two weeks. I doubted the two of them would ever become good friends but one evening, about two days before the wedding, Charity and Mariette were like two schoolgirls as they pored over a lady's magazine full of hairstyles and dresses; they giggled and oohed over some of them and my father smiled. Now that Mariette had agreed to live with us, at least for a few months, Hoss always checked her mail as well as ours and had brought the magazine back from his town run.

"I tried this one," Mariette said as she showed Charity the picture in the magazine, "but the pins just stuck out all over and it looked atrocious, it's that roll around the edge. I was hoping to wear my hair this way for your wedding."

Charity blushed. She was shy about the wedding and I wasn't sure why. She didn't mind discussing it with me and talking about our future together but in front of others, she was diffident and reserved. We had decided that it would be a small affair—just a few close friends—and one would be Mariette. Charity had asked upon my urging, if Mariette would be her matron of honor; Hoss was to be my best man. Mariette had agreed but I wasn't there so I don't know if she had agreed wholeheartedly or begrudgingly, agreed for my sake or because she wanted to share our joy. But I had no time to be concerned-with only two days before the ceremony, Hop Sing was in a fluster.

"There are only going to be 10 guests," I assured him. He was in a lather about the cake and the menu and having enough food. "Need lobster—good luck food. Can not find in Chinatown." There were so many of Hop Sing's cousins and various relatives helping out in the kitchen that there was barely room for the food and the loud voices giving orders and arguing over certain dishes became the background noise to daily life.

"Hop Sing, the food is a minor thing—it's more the atmosphere, that everyone has enough to eat and enjoys themselves."

"No. Mistah Adam marry—number one son most important. Wedding banquet tell of man's importance. Must have fish—fish eggs good—mean bride have many children. And roast pig—suckling pig. Good sign for bride." I told him that I hoped there was no relationship between a skewered, crispy-skinned roast pig with a curly tail and my bride-to-be but Hop Sing smiled. "You trust Hop Sing. Good sign—good luck."

But it was the cake that had Hop Sing—and Hoss—the most excited. According to Hop Sing, the cake could make or break a marriage and so his sister's cousin's number two son who worked in a bakery in Chinatown was going to arrive the day before and help Hop Sing make a "double happiness" cake. It was going to have four layers and be decorated with the Chinese symbols for happiness, wealth and health. I just let Hop Sing loose to do as he pleased and was glad that he was accepting Charity as a member of the family. That meant she had his devotion as well.

"I can help you with your hair," Charity said, as she looked at the magazine. "Then it'll be easier for you. This doesn't look all that difficult…" Charity reached out and touched Mariette's hair. "I see the problem, your hair's so fine. Let's see what we can do. Let's go try it now before dinner." She and Mariette went up the stairs together and I felt a sense of relief and Pa called out after them that dinner would be ready soon.

"Looks like they's gonna be good friends," Hoss said. "From what you told us, Adam, I didn't think Mariette would ever forgive 'er—'bout Jason and all."

"Well," Joe said as he yawned even though it was still early. He had been in town late the night before and dragged his ass up the stairs at 2:00 in the morning only to meet Pa waiting for him. I enjoyed hearing about the aftermath. "I guess since Charity signed off on the mining shares, Mariette feels more charitable. Hey." Joe said as he sat up. "I made a joke! Get it—more charitable—Charity?"

I groaned and Hoss punched him in the arm.

"Well, I'm pleased that peace has finally reigned," my father said. He wasn't the only one. I had asked Charity to be indulgent of Mariette, to understand her grief and that no matter what, to please not say anything derogatory about Jason. Jason may have been many unfortunate things but of one thing I was sure, he had loved Mariette and was good to her. Through all their sorrows, the death of their son and her miscarriages, Jason was supportive and kind and helped her survive her devastating grief; he had given her a reason to live and for that I would always be grateful. But Jason was dead and I hoped that Mariette would be happy for me; I had found someone to love and in time, I was sure Mariette would love her as well.

I was also satisfied that my father accepted that I was going to marry Charity. I told him we would go to Carson City if marrying here would embarrass him or upset Mariette too much. You see, I had told my family some things about Charity—her loan to Jason, her acquaintance with Murdoch but I left it at that. None of them needed to know she had been Murdoch's mistress, least of all, Mariette. She would have then reminded me that she had pegged Charity as a whore from the very beginning. And then there was my family. Hoss and Joe would have never been comfortable around her had they known and my father, well, he may have accepted the marriage because as he said, I was "set on her." But in the back of his mind he would always have the idea that she was using me for our wealth. He would constantly be watching her but I would have done the same if the tables had been turned.

I have to admit I considered it too, that Charity was a mercenary who relished the idea of marrying into the wealthiest family in the Nevada territory. Falling on her back for me would be no greater hardship than selling herself to Murdoch had been and there was respectability in marriage. She would be a winner all around. Charity would come out of this marriage well-off with a grand house and money to burn. I had fallen desperately in love with her but that didn't make me stupid and not entertain other possibilities. When Charity and I would talk, I would listen careful for any nuance that might indicate a lie or a fleeting expression but they was never there. I'd been duped before—I admit that-not seen people for who they truly were but when I think about it, there were always signs I noticed early on but brushed off. So I would lie in bed each night and think about Charity and all that had transpired—each word of our conversation and all I ever felt was a burning desire for her. That had been the most difficult part—the waiting for her.

Whenever I would return Charity to town, I never went into her hotel room—that would have started rumors which I didn't want. Nor did I pay her hotel bill or upgrade her room although I thought she should live in luxury. When I apologized and told her that people might think I was keeping her if I asked for a better room, Charity laughed.

"What makes you think I would even want that, Adam—you keeping me—paying for me before we're married? Or that I would accept it no matter what?"

I couldn't answer that question. What I truly wanted was for her to stay at the Ponderosa but Charity would have none of it. I couldn't really get a reason from her except that she said it wasn't right. I asked her why but I couldn't pin her down—she was going at wriggling out of an unpleasant conversation. Since there was no porch to sit on at the hotel except the very public front porch, to court Charity, no parlor to sit in and make small talk and then to perhaps kiss, nothing like a normal courtship—and yes, I thought of it as a courtship—I had no recourse but to take her out on buggy rides or on picnics whenever I could get away from the Ponderosa.

The weather was warming up a bit but it was still cold and I would bring a blanket and we would sit together, the blanket wrapped around us and kiss. It would have been so easy for me to seduce Charity, to have her submit to me—she was more than willing—not that she said anything but that she never stopped me from touching her or unbuttoning the bodice of a blouse to kiss her smooth skin. Whenever I ran a hand beneath her skirt, she would close her eyes and sigh in pleasure, relaxing into my caresses. She was like a cat who raises and moves to meet your hand as you run it over its lithe, supple body. And since Charity never protested, never stopped me, I had to stop myself because as I told Charity, anything—or anyone—worth having was worth waiting for. And I would wait for her.


	11. Chapter 11

I have to admit I was nervous about the wedding—but not about taking Charity as my wife—not that. It's just that I had never come that close before and it put me on edge. Charity and I would be happy together—I knew that. But I was pacing in my room and kept thinking that I needed to see her, needed to be sure she was going to go through with the vows. She was in the bedroom down the hall dressing so on an impulse, I went to see her, knocking once and then walking in..

"It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," Charity said as she rose from the vanity chair but she was smiling. She had been putting up her hair and she looked so desirable in her underclothes and corset, the as yet unconfined curls falling about her face, that I could barely control my urge. I gave in and pulled her to me, kissing her neck and her mouth. "Adam," she whispered, "just a few more hours-we've waited this long…" But she had thrown back her neck giving me greater access to her.

I swept her up and took her over to the bed and lay her down. I joined her. I couldn't see waiting any longer and apparently she couldn't either and began to unbutton my shirt which I quickly removed. Charity ran her hands over my chest and said, "Let's make our own luck—now." She pulled me down to her and kissed me-she was almost desperate for me it seemed, as she wrapped one leg about me and wound her arms about my neck. Now or tonight, what did it matter? I wanted her, I loved her and my blood was thrumming to some ancient beat of desire. I buried my head between her breasts as Charity made small sounds of delight-but a light knock on the door stopped me cold.

"I'm here to help you dress…" Mariette walked in and stopped, stunned at seeing us. "I…." She blushed deeply and rushed out. I could hear her light footsteps as she ran to her room and slammed the door.

"Oh, hell," I said sitting up. "Damn it all."

Charity sat up beside me and placed a small hand on my shoulder. "Adam…it could have been worse." I glanced over at her. "She could have walked in on us two minutes later." And she smiled and I laughed. Charity was the perfect woman for me—we thought alike on many things and she seemed attuned to me, knew what would make me laugh when I was somber, how to soothe me when I was distressed.

"Think I should go see her—try to explain?"

"Explain what? Mariette is no child and she was a married woman herself. Just what would you explain? That we were close to fornicating? She saw that and I know you're embarrassed but she is as well, I'm sure. Give her time."

"I suppose you're right." My Charity—she always knew what to say. "Well, I'm afraid I mussed up your hair—that is what you'd already fixed." I touched the fragrant curls. Oh, I adored her.

"It's all right." She smiled at me again and kissed my cheek. "Now you had best go shave. I won't need rouge after what we were just doing; my cheeks are chafed and already rosy." And she lightly caressed my cheek, smiling indulgently

Before I left her room, I kissed her once more. It would only be a few more hours and Charity would be mine. But when I opened her door, Charity called to me and I turned to face her.

"Adam…I know that everything's ready for the wedding-the food, the cake, the guests invited and such but if…I mean perhaps we should wait."

I can't describe the chill that ran through me, the fear that she was going to leave me. "Charity…"

"Listen to me for a moment—just listen." She stood up. "You're a determined man—I know that and that's part of why I love you but, well, your single-mindedness keeps you from seeing things from anyone else's perspective.. I think I should go back to Sacramento and in a few weeks—perhaps a few months…"

"No." I couldn't believe what she was saying. I mean, I knew she was right about me, that I was determined to marry her but what she didn't understand was that I had always considered others, always done what was right no matter what the consequences for myself. But now I wanted to be happy, to have Charity as my wife and to come home to her and any children we might have. Charity was my reward for sacrificing my own happiness for the sake od others all those years.

I knew that Mariette was having a hard time with my choices and so was my family but I had accepted quite a few things for another's happiness—my father marrying Marie in just a few weeks, Mariette marrying Jason Blaine who had an unknown past. I remember telling my father we should hire someone to investigate Jason Blaine but he demurred and said that Mariette loved Jason and he loved her and that was all that was necessary; Jason made Mariette happy and she had already experienced so much sadness in her young life.

"Adam, we've rushed things and with Jason having died just over a month ago, well, Mariette hasn't had time to fully grieve. Perhaps seeing us happy only magnifies her sadness. And then, well, your family is nice but they must be finding this hard to accept as well."

"No, Charity. If you leave…" I pulled her to me and kissed her again and again. "Charity, I love you. I want to marry you and we're so close to it. Please don't leave me. Maybe I'm not thinking of anyone else's feelings but I have a right to be happy, a right to be joined to the woman I love—and that's you."

Charity kissed me as desperately as I had kissed her. "Yes, my darling, yes." She reached up and caressed my cheek again, that gesture that embodied all the tenderness she felt for me. "I'll stay and we'll marry and perhaps, after we leave for our honeymoon…things will be better when we return."

I felt overwhelming relief and happiness—Charity was going to marry me.

"Now leave so I can get dressed—and look at my hair!" She had turned to look in the long vanity mirror and leaned down for her hairbrush. I bent over her and kissed the back of her neck. She was surprised and stood up, smiling.

"You know," I said, "Charity Cartwright has a nice ring to it." I left to shave and dress but Mariette was still on my mind. I debated whether or not to talk to her but Charity was probably right—Mariette was embarrassed and my speaking to her would only compound the issue. After all—what would I say? That she had been the "coitus interruptus?" That she had kept me from enjoying my bride-to-be before the proper time? But I also knew that I had inadvertently confirmed Mariette's opinion of Charity as a wanton woman—a whore. That bothered me the most—and worried me the most.

~ 0 ~

My father knocked and came in. "Everything okay, Adam? It's almost time."

I was buttoning up my white shirt. "Yeah, I'm ready unless Charity has turned and run." I was only half kidding; I was still worried about my earlier conversation with Charity.

"No, no, nothing like that. I just felt that we should have a little talk before the…ceremony."

"Pa, we've had the sex talk—a gentleman takes the weight on his forearms," I said, turning back to the mirror, grinning. I always liked talking to my father as I admired him and his opinions but I did enjoy needling him. My father is a fine man and I thought so even knowing his faults. One fault he had was that he often felt that I should do as he said, not as he did. Many things that he had done in his younger days, he chastised me and my brothers for doing. But I suppose that's the way for all parents—actually of everyone. There are many things in life that we swear we would never do—that is until the situation arises and then we do the very thing we protested against. Our perspective changes and so our views on life do as well.

"All right, Adam—I'm serious though. I fear for you, Adam."

"Why?"

"I don't want to see you hurt."

"Pa," I said turning to him even though I could see his reflection in my mirror as I had started fixing my tie. "I won't be hurt."

"Adam, Charity's a beautiful woman—any man can see that—but can you see into her heart? Is she marrying you because she loves you or for your wealth—or another reason?"

"I don't really know, Pa, and you know what? I don't really care. But I think she does love me. No, let me take that back. I _feel_ she loves me. I don't want to intellectualize it, I just want to enjoy it, to delight in her. Pa, Remember what it was like…."

"I know what you're going to say, Adam." My father put up a hand in protest. "Charity puts me in mind of Marie as well. You thought I married her too quickly—I remember how you behaved when we came home, how you didn't speak to either of us for over two weeks-and I suppose I did marry her too quickly. But I loved her despite her notorious reputation as a fallen woman and despite everyone in New Orleans society thinking she had taken a lover and caused her husband to leave the city for his honor's sake. I never even asked Marie if she loved me and I also considered that I may have been Marie's means of escape from her poisonous mother-in-law and all the bad memories. I suppose it's the same for you." He smiled wryly.

"Maybe we're more alike than we know," I said, smiling as well. And then, much to my surprise, my father pulled me to him and hugged me—not just hugged, he actually held me. I gingerly hugged him back, patting him awkwardly as the only time I've been that close to another person is when I've been on top of a woman. Then he turned and left closing the door behind him. I dropped on the bed and felt such love for him and such gratitude. Charity seemed to bring more displays of love into my life than I would have ever thought possible. I had to calm myself down so that I wouldn't give in to my churning emotions. My father loved me-undisputedly. I had him in my life, more so now than ever before except when it was just the two of us on the way west. I also had Charity and the rest of my family to love me. I considered that very few men were as lucky as I was at that moment.


	12. Chapter 12

**Note: I raised the number of wedding guests to over 20. I had earlier written there would be about 10 but I have edited. Nevertheless, if you read before I edited the number, this is to inform you.**

I waited nervously alongside Hoss. Mrs. Shaughnessy sat at the harmonium that Hoss and Joe had managed to move from her house to ours. She was waiting to play music when Mariette would first appear at the top of the stairs so she kept looking anxiously at the festooned staircase. Hoss said that he hoped I appreciated the fact that he "near 'bout broke my back carrying that dadblasted thing since Joe here weren't no help at all 'cept to tell me not to step in a cow pie in the yard!" It seems that Hoss had carried the harmonium from the Widow Shaugnessy's house to our buckboard bent over like Atlas with a pump organ instead of the world on his back and shoulders.

Roy Coffee and Dr. Paul Martin were among the wedding guests as well as our closest neighbors and Old Will, our past foreman who couldn't really stand anymore. He sat on one of the chairs nearly blind—his eyes having a milky look about them. Hoss stood by me, asking me why I was so nervous. And Joe teased me by whispering some obscene remarks that I won't repeat here—you may not think they were funny but Hoss and I did and it helped relieve my edginess. Pa kept looking at us disapprovingly for laughing as he used to when we were young and acting up in church.

It seemed that so much had already happened that morning and it wasn't even 1:00, the time of the ceremony. My thoughts swirled as waited, thinking about Mariette—I hadn't had time to talk to her before the ceremony—had followed Charity's advice about not embarrassing Mariette further by mentioning what she had seen. I had hoped that Charity had spoken to her though. Things had become so much better between Charity and Mariette that to have their budding friendship deteriorate so quickly just because I couldn't wait to take Charity was a paramount worry. But if Mariette decided not to show downstairs, well, that would be the way it was. I found myself actually hoping Mariette would plead a headache and not attend rather than my having to face her. I didn't want to see the disapproving look in her eyes although I shouldn't have cared. But I did care.

Pastor Richards stood waiting as well, chatting with my father until the organ resounded, its notes full and deep. Mrs. Shaughnessy, grinning, began an introduction to _The Bridal Chorus_. I looked up and Mariette stood at the top of the stairs, Charity, a few steps behind holding a bouquet of roses. Mrs. Arnett had provided them from her garden; I don't know why I feel it's necessary to mention that but, you see, we had everyone's support. The world was benevolent and I was so much in love.

Charity wore no veil—she had no desire to, she said, and I told her that it would be a shame to hide her beauty anyway. She wore an ivory dress that she and Mariette had found at the dressmaker's in town. They had actually gone shopping together—at least I think they did. I really had no interest in the clothes but Mariette wore a new dress as well—it was pink. Pa had paid for it despite Mariette's protest but both I and Pa had insisted, and she looked lovely holding a smaller bouquet of roses. I think they were pink roses but I only glanced briefly at Mariette-Charity had all my attention. It was only later that Joe remarked that he should have known something was wrong because Mariette wasn't smiling and seemed to come down the stairs as if walking in her sleep.

Mariette and Charity came down the stairs and I know I was smiling the whole time. Mariette must have stopped next to Pa who stood a few steps away from the pastor and Charity came to me. She was so beautiful—Hoss even whistled low and under his breath said, "Dang, Adam. You're one lucky man—she's beautiful!"

Oh, she was beautiful, transcendent, and I couldn't help myself. When Charity stood beside me and looked up at me, I kissed her.

"Adam, not yet," she said, blushing slightly. "Wait until we've finished saying our vows." But Charity smiled and I heard people chuckling. I just wanted the whole thing to be over with, the cake to be cut and the guests fed so that Charity and I could leave. Our bags were packed and waiting in the back of the buggy. When it was time, Hoss would hitch it up and then drive us to town. I knew Joe had tied old boots and shoes, many donated by our guests, to the back of the buggy. There were also a few pairs of baby shoes, he told me, "because the pastor's wife said that it meant a lot of children."

I had hoped to avoid all the noise and annoyance of a Shivaree and this was my compromise—I allowed the decorating of the buggy to keep Hoss, Joe, all the ranch hands and the other men I knew from banging pots and pans outside our hotel room all night and serenading us with obscene songs. Hoss said that Roy would probably arrest them all for public drunkenness and disturbing the peace anyway for making a ruckus so they were content with the shoes and boots and the tossing of the rice—the only tradition Hop Sing didn't like.

"Waste of food! Humph. Household gods no like wasting food. In hungry days, regret what was wasted. Rice good food—best food." He had frowned when Hoss had pulled a sack of rice out of pantry and said what it was for—to toss at the departing bride and groom, but I explained that it was an American tradition to ensure children and although he still didn't like wasting the rice, Hop Sing only complained under his breath after that.

I was also sure that the ranch hands, after they finished their wedding meal in the bunk house-two huge roast geese, fried potatoes, so many green beans cooked with hogback that it looked like a mountain of green, a yellow cake with white icing and the four bottles of rye whiskey I had presented them-would line the road leaving the Ponderosa, hooting and hollering and shouting things that I didn't dare guess. Charity though, knew none of this and I considered that it would be best to let her be surprised.

I barely remembered exchanging vows—all I could think of was Charity but I managed to slip the ring, a narrow gold band, on her left hand. It had been made from a few nuggets of gold that had been found on the Ponderosa. The jeweler in Carson City had quickly crafted it and measured Charity's finger with a string to get her size and now she wore it as a sign for all to see that she was married—to me. The pastor then announced we were man and wife and I kissed Charity.

The guests rushed us, congratulating us, shaking my hand, kissing the bride and I noticed that Mariette stood back. She had an odd, sad smile on her face. I wondered if it was because our wedding reminded her of her wedding to Jason. This was the very place where she and Jason had vowed their love and suddenly I felt that I shouldn't have pressured Charity to ask Mariette to stand up for her. It had been a bad idea—a mistake. I was sure that Mariette had befriended Charity just to please me and now she was wretched.

I managed to disengage from the throng of people who surrounded us. Charity looked at me as I politely stepped away, wondering where I was going but I only smiled at her. I'm sure her eyes followed me as I went to Mariette.

"I suppose that now that you're married…," she said quietly. "The proper thing to say is congratulations."

"Thank you, Mariette. Thank you for celebrating with us." I bent down to kiss her cheek but she put one hand behind my neck and kissed me on the mouth. Mariette and I had always kissed on the mouth although she never kissed Hoss and Joe on the lips but it never bothered them or me. But for some reason, this time it did. There was something different about this kiss. No, it's wasn't passionate—it was almost an apology.

Charity walked up to us as Hop Sing came out and announced it was time to eat. The people milled over to the table and sideboard where the food lay along with the plates and glasses and silver. I remember thinking that everyone was happy and the sound of laughter mixed with silverware clinking on china plates as background noise. The punch bowl was on the round table across the room and the punch had been spiked with Jamaican rum sent all the way from New Orleans about two years ago. Pa had said at the tie that he wanted to save it for a special day. He remembered it was in the cellar and served it up today. Pa held the ladle as many of the men bellied up to the table proffering their empty cups.

"Mariette," Charity said, "I'm glad you were here—I know it means a lot to Adam as well. I hope that after earlier, I mean that after what…I do apologize. Thank you again—sister." Charity reached out for Mariette and embraced her but I thought it odd that Mariette kept her bouquet between them.

"Hey, Adam," Hoss said as he came up beside me holding a plate filled with food, "that roast pig is goin' fast and it's…"

I heard a pop—a muffled sound and Charity stepped back, releasing Mariette. She let go of her flowers and they dropped to the floor. I looked at them and was puzzled and began to lean down to pick them up but I heard Hoss say, "What the hell?" I looked at my new wife and she had the oddest look on her face. It was one of surprise, of disbelief. Charity looked at me, her mouth open, and then she looked down at the bodice of her dress. There was a spot—a small, red spot—just below her breastbone. Charity shook her head slightly in disbelief and then looked at me-imploring me to do something.

"Charity, what…" Then she just crumpled. I grabbed her before she hit the floor. She was limp, her eyes unfocused, and then I understood because in front of us stood Mariette holding a pearl-handled derringer. At the moment I thought, _That's Marie's derringer. She always took it with her when she went riding—Pa had always insisted._ Mariette dropped her bouquet to the floor as well and she looked as surprised as Charity at what had happened. Mariette glanced at the small gun she held and then lifted her hand and put the barrel to her temple. I heard the shattering of a plate beside me and saw Hoss grab Mariette's hand and wrench away the derringer. I remember thinking the gun looked so small in Hoss' huge hand. Mariette sank to her knees, sobbing. And I was undone—Charity had been taken from me in a heartbeat—in a second—a mere sixtieth of a minute. That's all the time it took to destroy what happiness we were finally going to own. In that small particle of time, my whole life had changed—I had changed and things would never be the same.


	13. Chapter 13

Epilogue

Funny, there are so many things I can't remember from that day because I paid no mind when they happened. I know the house was decorated, flowers and ribbons wound about the bannisters, garlands festooned the tables and flowers stood in vases everywhere; what type they were, I couldn't say—I just know they were there. I can't even remember everyone who was there, mainly because the only person I really saw was Charity. And Mariette. I remember that Hoss had swooped Mariette up as she became hysterical and carried her upstairs. Mariette kept saying she was sorry but it had to be done—she had to save me since she wasn't able to save Jason, She kept repeating, "Adam couldn't see what she was but I could. I saw it today—I saw it. I had to save him." And then she asked Hoss why he had stopped her from doing herself in—something like that—she was sobbing. I don't remember feeling any emotion at the time—I was numb. If only I could have stayed that way.

I can still see the spot of red on Charity's dress, how it was such a contrast to the color of the fabric as the color spread slightly but not as much as you would expect. We always expect a death-dealing wound to be huge, gaping, but it rarely is. I noticed in particular the lace on the bodice—it was roses and vines. I remember Charity telling me that the lace overlay had come from Chantilly, France and that white Chantilly was rare. It's a trivial thing to remember except that I had asked Charity if she would like to go to France someday. When there, I would buy her yards and yards of Chantilly lace, enough for her to decorate a thousand dresses. Charity had laughed, delighted with me and said that yes, she would love to visit France and had kissed me. I remember I promised her that I would present her the world and she said that I was her world.

But what I will never forget is Charity's look of shock when she was shot, how her eyes widened when she turned to me. I had thought Charity was going to say something to me but she never did—not even my name. She never made a sound except a small, "Oh." And then she had collapsed and I grabbed her. And she was dead. Charity had died and Mariette had killed her, shot her while in an embrace.

The guests left quickly except for Roy Coffee and Dr. Martin. Roy and my father were upset-I noticed that they were trying to keep their voices down as they talked about something—I suppose it was Charity's death but I can't be sure. I had pulled Charity onto my lap as I sat on the settee, holding her like I would a sleeping child and rocking slightly. Dr. Martin had bent over us and I knew he was trying to find a pulse but it was useless. After a few minutes, my father and brothers, not knowing what to do next, asked to take Charity from me. I couldn't have that so I held her even closer, clutched her to me and took her upstairs where I lay her on my bed and then locked us in. I pulled my desk chair next to the bed and sat holding her hand—the hand with her wedding band.

I was in there until the next day. I don't know how long I would have stayed in the room with her if they had left me alone, maybe forever, but finally, after my family tried to talk to me through the door, to convince me to open it, Hoss smashed the lock and I turned to see my father looking like a mad man, his eyes round with fear, push past my brothers. He was dressed in a black suit as were Hoss and Joe—actually, they looked the same as they had at the wedding and I wondered how much time had passed. My father told me Charity was dead—as if I didn't know—and that she had to be buried. I reluctantly agreed—I knew it had to be done so I allowed them to take her. I followed my father down the stairs as Hoss carried Charity. The coffin had been made and the undertaker stood in the parlor next to it. Pastor Richards was there as well and some of the same people who had been at the wedding stood in the house—some outside waiting in their buggies. I looked about the room. Black ribbon was wound on the bannister now and huge ebony bows seemed everywhere—even on the front door. The women looked as if they had been crying.

We buried my wife that day. I rode in the buggy, unkempt, unshaven, my eyes burning from lack of sleep. It was a beautiful afternoon. Spring was finally here and the birds were calling and I noticed a hawk gliding overhead. It would dip its wings and then circle again. The air was scented with sage and pine and I saw a stag standing off a distance, watching us as we passed, a then a doe came out of a stand of trees and stood beside the male.

Charity grave is a few yards from Marie's. Pa said that he thought it was the best place. It was always beautiful by the lake and there are no tree branches overhead to block the view of the sky. Every day I'm home, I visit and place wildflowers on Charity's grave; she liked the purple carnations that grew in clumps and I would stop and gather them for her. I talk to her as well, even though I know it's foolish-a grown man talking to a mound that has a decaying corpse beneath it. I know that. I also doubt the existence of heaven or ghosts or spirits of our deceased loved ones surrounding us. But no matter how much I tell myself I'm just being a fool, I have a sense that Charity is with me. I also talk to her in my room at night while I stare into the darkness. I am a rational man but I figure that if there is no spirit of my wife around me, fine. My talking to her hurts no one but if she is there, if that is Charity's soft hand I swear feel caressing my cheek, so much the better. But what destroys me the most—the irony that makes me break down into sobs when I'm alone is that I never "knew" Charity as my wife. I had my chances to be with her, to lay with my heart's love but no—I put it off. I swore that I would never postpone anything again.

As for Mariette, I know I should hate her but I can't. She was unhinged—I felt partially responsible. Dr. Martin said that Mariette wasn't capable of standing trial and in a manner, I was glad; I didn't want Charity a subject of public interest and scandal. We placed Mariette in a sanatorium in San Francisco. It was originally for people suffering from consumption but it had changed over the years and became a home for embarrassing relatives of the wealthy, for those people who couldn't cope with the world and had retreated from reality. Pa pays and I visit her whenever I am in San Francisco on business. Mariette doesn't remember the wedding, doesn't remember shooting Charity or even Charity, for that matter, and always greets me as if it's the first time she's seen me in years, embracing me and kissing me and telling me Jason will be home soon and asking if I can stay for dinner. Her doctor who is a pompous ass, says that she has blocked all memories of Charity's murder because they're too upsetting—blocked everything that happened within the last six years or so. I smiled slightly when the doctor told me that.

"Why do you think it's amusing, Mr. Cartwright," he asked disapprovingly.

"Amusing? No. Ironic? Yes. I would gladly trade my sanity to forget what happened but I remain rational and logical and therefore…well, I remember it every day of my life. You don't find that even the slightest bit sardonic?"

Well, Mariette is happy—she thinks she's waiting for Jason to return home every evening; each day is the same day over and over and time never marches on for her. Although my father and my brothers have been to see Mariette as well, we never discuss her—or Charity. And my family, well, whenever during a sermon Pastor Richards talks about the virtue "charity," my family is uncomfortable for me at the mention of the word.

~ 0 ~

It was about two months after Charity's death when my father came out into the barn where I was mucking out stalls.

"Adam, why are you doing this?"

I didn't look up but kept at it. I always found the barn and its redolent smells of horse, leather, and even manure comforting. "It has to be done, I have time and so I'm doing it." I continued shoveling up the urine-soaked clumps of sawdust and the manure and dumping them in the wheelbarrow.

"Where's Miles? You know he's to do it and I wanted those saddles cleaned."

"I sent him out to help with the branding. He needs to learn." Miles was a young fifteen-year-old boy who wanted to be a ranch hand. As the newest and the youngest hired, his first chores were to do the dirty jobs on the ranch. It was like an initiation in a manner.

My father stood and watched for a moment and my irritation rose; I had come out to be alone.

"You supervising? You gonna tell me that I'm not shoveling shit the right way?"

"Adam, you don't have to be busy every moment of every day," he said in a soft voice.

I kept working. "Yes, I do, Pa, because if I don't, I'll get up the courage to blow my brains out."

"Adam." My father grabbed my arm and I faced him. "So that's what you think. That it takes courage to die?" I said nothing as I felt my still-intense sorrow, my grief bubbling to the surface; my father's show of concern for me was too much. Why couldn't he let me be? "Let me tell you something, son—it takes more courage to live every day when your life has been shattered than to end it all with one quick bullet. Trust me—I know. If it hadn't been for you and later both you and Hoss, and then…." He stopped talking as his voice began to quaver and his eyes brimmed with tears. He swallowed heavily.

"Pa, you don't have to tell me." He looked grateful. "It never goes away, does it?" I asked. He shook his head no and then I realized that what he had said was right. It took courage to live—far more courage to live on without those you love than to end it.

And that's the biggest joke of all.

~ Finis ~


End file.
